Another year. Another Rosh Hashanah. And nothing has changed

Erev Rosh Hashanah 5775

I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom. It’s the only room in the house with one bed and such thick walls. You could sit on your bed and chat on the phone with your seminary teacher for hours without anyone hearing, and you could come in late at night and climb under the covers without anyone waking to ask how the date went.

Mirel calls as I rummage through my cosmetics bag. I jam the phone between my ear and shoulder while sorting the lipsticks and looking for the perfect shade. “This time last year,” she reminds me.

I sigh. “I miss so much about seminary. It’s no way near as fun to be an adult — this is the first time I needed to mentally prepare for a Yom Tov all on my own.”

“I just learned something the other day,” Mirel says. “Want a quick summary?”

I lean against the closet door and listen until my mother calls from downstairs. “Fay, it’s time for licht.”

Moments later I stand in front of the silver candlesticks as she welcomes the new year. And when my mother covers her eyes, I daven, too.

Hashem, please help me hold on to the inspiration and ideals I built last year. Help me find a job I enjoy, that makes me feel fulfilled. And then, like a whisper, the tefillah I was too scared to admit I already held: Hashem, please help me find the most wonderful guy so we can build a bayis ne’eman b’Yisrael.